


Heir Apparent

by Futura



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Futura/pseuds/Futura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Empress. Conspiracy, disappearance, dark magic, love. When her father was murdered on the night of her eighteenth birthday, she became the interest of an unpredictable God. She is Jessamine Kaldwin, Heir Apparent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Antebellum

In Dunwall Tower of the isle of Gristol, the heart of the Empire, a woman is standing overlooking the ocean. The only daughter of Emperor Euhorn, she is Jessamine Kaldwin, and today is her eighteenth birthday.

She was born in the high summer in the Month of Harvest, and while she relished in the ample sunlight present for her birthday, she couldn’t stand the heat. Presently, Jessamine stood on her balcony, shaded from the direct glare of the light. She observed enormous plumes of cotton wool clouds on the eastern most horizons towards Kingsparrow Island, stark white and muddled with grey on an otherwise cloudless sky. Perhaps it would rain today.

There was hardly a breath of wind, and her dark raven hair didn’t so much as stir a strand, which meant it was awfully humid and stuffy in her room. It was the type of humidity that caused all manner of hair and clothes to cling to her body like glue. Her Lord Protector, Galen Pirro, an aged man with hints of white whiskers and a hardened visage silently watched her from the other end of the room.

Jessamine’s room was more of a disorderly study than anything else. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with essential and hobby reading material for the young heir apparent. Her rapier sat on a large comfortable chair beside an ornately carved desk piled high with official correspondence. If today had not been her birthday, Jessamine would have taken leave to The Hounds Pit pub, and taken turns between rounds of strong ale and noisy sparring.

No guard, or even her Lord Protector no matter how loyal, would dare tell her otherwise. Just like the Royal Guard, as a young woman Jessamine learned the finer points of operating whale oil machinery and repair, gambling, fist fighting, excessive drinking, and avenging her honor. As well as having would-be suitors running scared at the prospect of the pointy end of a rapier run through their small intestines.

It had been her father, Emperor Euhorn’s idea to teach her how to handle a blade, and he approved of everything except what she did with it in her own time. Jessamine was far more wayward than he had hoped, and in time, he could only pray she accepted her responsibilities a bit more gracefully.

“Milady,” Galen broke from the other end of the room. Jessamine turned around, and slumped her back and elbows against the stone rail of her balcony. “Your father requests your presence in the ballroom.”

She frowned, parting her lips enough for a sigh to escape. It would undoubtedly regard preparations for her own coming of age party tonight. She nodded to her Lord Protector in acknowledgement, sauntering over to her dressing table. In front of the mirror, Jessamine observed the thick unruly waves of raven hair that hung below her breast. She brushed through her locks with noticeable effort, gathering it up and tying it against her head in a neat bun.

She stood up and was out of her room in only a few quick strides, Galen close behind. She moved around the hall in what a casual observer might call an absent-minded manner. In her left palm she held her gold Empress pin, rolling it between her fingers, eventually pinning it to her front. She turned to him once he had caught up, “I hadn’t thought about it before,” Jessamine started, “but this will be the last of my parties you shall attend as my Lord Protector.” She said to the greying man. They descended down a flight of white marble steps, the small wooden heels of her boots echoed against the walls.

“Ah, Milady I am glad to resign. I have spent many years as your, and Emperor Euhorn’s Lord Protector.” He said, his face hardly shifting, although his tone hinted at relief. Her mouth twitched into a generous smile.

“Perhaps you shall move into a beach home on Serkonos,” Jessamine suggested, continuing the small conversation as they made their way through the main hall. Galen motioned with his hand to veer right, towards the ballroom, she followed.

“Indeed,” he said bleakly, although she caught the small hint of sentiment in his voice. When they reached the heavy doors of the ballroom, Jessamine pushed them open with relative ease. Indeed, the eve of her birthday dinner was upon them. All manner of decorations and preparations adored the ballroom in Dunwall Tower. The glass ceilings scattered the sunlight around like shards, against the pastel and stone walls, white marble floors and porcelain dishes in the hands of the maids.

She spotted her father in mid conversation with the Captain of the Watch, discussing safety precautions for the event. She paused to survey the room, clearly displeased. Her left heel beginning to turn away when Galen stopped her, fully aware of her wishes to abscond; and Jessamine realized that one hundred and eighty pounds of plate metal moves where it wills.

“Ah, yes Jessamine dear, I must speak with you about tonight.” He shut his favorite book of poetry to look her in her steel coloured eyes, his glare as sharp as a blade, “and no, I’m not asking for your opinion of the party.”

She looked back at him, her brows knitting in the middle, “I’ll hold my tongue,” she said, and her disdain was audible. Emperor Euhorn murmured a ‘thank you’ to the Captain, who shot a confounded look at Jessamine before he bid the Emperor and herself adieu.

Emperor Euhorn led his daughter out of the ballroom, accompanied only by Galen. They stood outside the heavy doors, away from earshot between the maids and the Watch. Euhorn’s mien was quite placid, he was happy for Jessamine. He knew despite her youthful boisterousness, she would make a fine Empress in his place when the time came. He sighed to himself, with another passing birthday that time was certainly approaching faster than he cared to admit.

“The party tonight will be shared with a celebration of Galen’s retirement from his post,” he began. Jessamine folded her arms across her chest, she was quizzical, but allowed him to continue. Even the Lord Protector’s attention was piqued, although neither of them noticed beyond his usual demeanour of stoicism. “We’ve received an offer from the Serkonian ambassador for a suitable Lord Protector to fill the post. As a demonstration of our continuing bond between our empires, it is a monumental display of diversity.”

“Well, then we’d be foolish not to accept.” Jessamine glanced at Galen from the corner of her eye.

Euhorn’s lips curled upwards in a smile, the creases along his eyes and mouth becoming suddenly more visible. “You’ll make a fine Empress yet,” he put a hand on his daughters shoulder, and his other hand dove into the pockets of his black slacks. He fished out a small wrapped box and handed it to Jessamine, “happy birthday dear.” Jessamine found that she was beaming from ear to ear, and fell into Euhorn’s burly embrace.

She spent much of her childhood between caretakers, yet despite the fact, their bond had remained strong and she did truly love her father. It was hard for a man such as Euhorn to adjust to both parental roles. Even if she was indeed born out of wedlock, he braved the early taunts and rumours of illegitimacy with fiery grace. Shortly after, not a single maid dared raise their tongue to Jessamine’s birth right. She was his daughter, and the heir apparent to Gristol.

Jessamine had turned to leave when her father called to her, “before you go, you’ll be meeting with them tonight, so be sure to dress and act accordingly.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jessamine replied whole heartedly before taking her leave.


	2. Knife's Edge

"They’re fond of bright colours.”

Galen turned suddenly beside Jessamine’s door, startled. “I’m sorry?”

The Lady of Gristol was spending her remaining early evening time in the relative solitude of her room. There were very few times that Jessamine truly had any privacy, she controlled her expressions and doings with practiced dedication. It was disconcerting knowing that the eagle eyes of Dunwall were trained on all her doings. She pressed her lips together, stifling an outward show of discomfort.

“Serkonians, they have a likeness towards bright colours.” She said answering Galen’ query, Jessamine fondled the box her father gave her resolute on opening it after the party in a more private manner, she set it aside on her dressing table. She then adjusted the sleeves on her deep royal blue jacket before giving up and burying her hands in the pockets of her tapered and pressed black slacks. At present, she was allowing the years of forced lessons on the cultures of the Isles to pervade her thoughts, but not without certain bitterness.

Strictly rebellious or bitter would have been too harsh of words for Jessamine, she was curious, curious about whom she was. The Kaldwin’s were not a long line of royalty, it was only when the previous empire bore no heirs was her father appointed the throne. She had been trying in futility to understand her royal expectation since the day her father was crowned. If the mould of heiress to the empire hadn’t been suddenly fitted around her since her first blundering steps into the tower of Dunwall, what could she have become? Truth be told, she was afraid of the answer. Jessamine didn’t know a life outside of privilege, but like a captain she was anchored to the ship of Dunwall, and would be until the day it sank. Despite her best efforts of ignoring her father’s fascination with poetry, she likened herself to Ulysses, forever enslaved to the wanton desire for a different life.

Slowly, the soft patter of rain against the stone of her open balcony filtered through her reverie. Jessamine was greeted with several warm, fat drops of summer rain against her head and her bare neck as she reached to close the doors. As well as the sight of a Serkonian ship making for dock in the distance, the familiar flag soaring high alongside the mast. She turned to Galen, “rain is certainly not the most welcoming weather for ambassadors from the jewel of the south.”

His silence permeated the room, simply nodding to Jessamine in response. Perhaps Galen had more to say about tonight than he let on, she thought, considering he didn’t let on much at all. “Well, the guests will be here any moment.” She said, “I’ll be expected there to welcome them.”

Jessamine ran her hand along the walls as she left the room, she kept her expression passive but her mind spun into motion at the thought of a night full of introductions and small talk. She had developed a taste for wine in the presence of events such as these. In addition, it was just now occurring to her that she would also have to make acquaintance with a new Lord Protector. She glanced at Galen with a hint of nostalgia; there were few men in such a position that allowed the leniency in her past times as he did. Perhaps she was more afraid than she thought, another year passing meant she inched closed still to abandoning all of those past times in favour of duty. It was not a pleasant thought, but she intended to at least enjoy tonight as much as was permissible.

The heavy doors to the ballroom were already open when she arrived. The plethoras of the usual guests were already present. The Captain of the watch, the ambassador of Gristol, the Lord Regent, the Royal Spymaster, and many other individuals related professionally or otherwise to the Kaldwins. The usual overwatch was present, mostly tending to the walls of light that blocked off restricted areas outside of the ballroom. Her father smiled when he saw her arrive, he always thought she was beautiful no matter what she wore.

“You look lovely, Jessamine,” He said proudly, putting his arm around his daughters shoulder momentarily. “You remembered their taste for colour,” he added slyly on a final thought. Jessamine sighed and nodded in response, not even realizing her mouth had twitched into a half smile. Her father turned to her suddenly, as if remembering something just then, “ah, the ship from Serkonos is anchoring likely as we speak; keep that in mind as the... guests distract you.” His eyes darted directly behind Jessamine who tilted her head inquisitively in time to be greeted by a rather astir Waverly Boyle.

“Are you nervous about entering adulthood, Lady Jessamine?” She asked, “I’m sure you’ll have to give up some of your interesting hobbies,” Waverly added, sipping a glass of red wine that may as well have been filled with liquid disdain. She was dressed in a dark tapered pant, and a bright maroon blouse. Her pale hair was tied in an elegant bun, and the small slit of her bare, fair skin was decorated by a deep green stone hanging from her neck. Jessamine stifled a groan; she was honestly at opposite ends of the spectrum with the Boyle sisters. Each of them envied in their own unique way some aspect of her position as heiress. She wanted to explain that it wasn’t an arrangement of glamour, but of responsibility. She was like Atlas, and the weight of the world would constantly be on her shoulders, when the time came. The most selfless duty one could ever be assigned was the role of an honest Empress.

Several responses registered in the forefront of Jessamine’s thoughts, one of which involved asking if Ms. Boyle wanted to take it to the courtyard, with a rapier. But she found herself simply muttering, “Right, thank you for attending” and then tipping her head in a ‘goodbye’. Jessamine curtly made her way to the ornate dinner table in the centre of the room, and poured herself a glass of wine. She took several exceptionally long sips. A tap on her shoulder followed by a mischievously demure laughter cut her scornful gaze short.

“’Thank you for attending’ you can hardly stand the Boyle sisters! I really can’t blame you, but that was a surprisingly conservative response for you,” said the young olive skinned woman, who slinked beside Jessamine. She was dressed in a black tea length dress and matching heeled shoes. She kept her thick raven hair short, and usually didn’t spend time decorating her face. Tonight however she was adorned with a wine coloured lip stain. For a baker’s apprentice, she had surprisingly eloquent taste.

Jessamine giggled, “it’s good to see you out of the oven too Delilah” said the young heiress, who earned herself a scoff out of the baker. Before she could utter another word, Delilah snatched the near empty glass of wine and finished it in a single swill.

“Here, I’ve got something to show you before anyone else tries to ruin your party,” said Delilah taking Jessamine’s arm. Her black heeled shoes echoed against the white marble floors as she lightly tugged Jessamine to the centre of the dessert table. “Get ready,” she said excitedly putting her hand on the cover of a large serving dish. Jessamine gave a brief coy smile, her hands now resting on her hips. Delilah wasted no time unveiling her creation, and pulled off the silver cover. “Tadaa,” she sang, hardly able to contain the prideful grin that stretched across her cheeks from ear to ear. Jessamine gasped at the delight before her. It was a beautiful, expertly made birthday cake. Large, pristine icing violets wrapped around the two tiered cake against a creamy white backdrop.

“Delilah..!” The Lady started, “it’s beautiful I-”

“There’s no need to thank me, it’s your birthday, and every birthday needs a cake,” Delilah interrupted, looking down at her shoes unable to shake her prominent grin.

Jessamine scoffed playfully, “I’m going to be appreciative and there’s no amount of playing coy that’s going to stop me,” she chided, wrapping her arms around her old friend in a warm embrace.

 “I did spend all day on it,” Delilah said as if answering an unknown question. She broke Jessamine’s squeeze and teasingly placed her hands on her hips as the Lady so commonly did. “Now go out there, don’t drink too much wine, and be nice to the guests.”

Jessamine swatted Delilah’s hands down, “I’ll make no such promises,” she replied half-giggling.

However there would hardly be time for Jessamine to complete the usual gauntlet of greetings, as the room had shifted their attention to her father, who was now gathering the interest of the visitors, by tapping a knife against his wine glass calling a toast. The casual disjointed mutter spread across the ballroom gradually faded into quiet, with all eyes now fixated on the Emperor. “First and foremost, I would like to thank you all for coming and celebrating this monument in our Empire as we welcome our new Lord Protector hailing from Serkonos.” He said, earning a fair amount of nods, “as well as my lovely daughter Jessamine’s birthday!” Euhorn added, shifting his gaze towards his daughter, raising his glass. Jessamine gave a small shy wave in solidarity, to a modest handful of applause. He made several comments about Jessamine’s childhood that made her cheeks burn scarlet and she found herself slinking away to the wall. It wasn’t unexpected, but she was finding it less enjoyable every birthday.

Jessamine met Galen leaning against the nearby wall, and she walked briskly towards him. He watched her approach, almost smirking, “Ah,” he said coughing, clearly trying to disguise laughter, “Emperor or not, it’s your fathers job to embarrass you on your birthday,” the Lord Protector said in the most unconvincing matter-of-fact tone he could muster, as Jessamine folded her arms in avid disagreement.

“Well it was more amusing when I was younger,” she said, avoiding Galens gaze. She didn’t want him to see the thought in her eyes, that every birthday it got harder and harder for her father to draw the line between his daughter and his heiress, it was wearing heavily on Jessamine. Galen simply shrugged, and she found that her time to brood was cut short by the doors swinging open.

Their presence was unmistakable, compared to the general mien of Dunwall, they were vibrant and dark toned, as if they were Dunwall’s opposite. She watched her father greet them eagerly, and being the enthusiastic person her was she knew he’d want to not-so-subtly impress them with little touches here and there from their home. Of course, Jessamine too knew all there was to know about the Isles she was bound to inherit. She also knew her father, and that the music he’d just started playing was most definitely Serkonian.

Jessamine was aware that Serkonos wasn’t well known for their expertise in the formal customs of Gristol, but she hardly expected anything like this. She could only imagine the riveted faces of the overseers that had never left their home Isle of Gristol, holding the mechanical music boxes behind their distinctive masks. The rhythmic tempo and the subtle undercurrent of melodic brass were specifically not from Dunwall. Her father especially seemed taken by surprise, but she could tell even he was finding it impossible to resist watching in fascination. Jessamine drew another slow sip of wine, which was slowly but surely settling itself into the base of her spine and would likely claim a say in some of her words. She turned towards Lady Boyle who had apparently absconded a while ago. She quickly found her in the centre of the ballroom; it was difficult to miss her scarlet blouse. It seemed like she had no qualms engaging in flirtatious dancing and as soon as she tired of one partner she would swing herself onto the next. Jessasmine hated to admit it, but the best word to describe it was sensual, in the mildest vocabulary. Waverly caught her mindless gaze and gave her a deviously coy smile. _I thought this was my party_ Jessamine thought to herself.

“Jessamine,” Her father’s voice boomed excitedly in her ear shaking her out of her reverie. “I’d like you to meet the new Lord Protector,” He said putting his hand on her shoulder again; “well pre-emptively,” he added quickly, reminding her that the position wasn’t official yet. She nodded and hurriedly finished what she had just decided was her last glass of wine, in one quick motion, leaving the glass behind on the table. With his arm still on her shoulder he led her towards the guests, they greeted her with a friendly demeanor and she reciprocated whilst beginning to feel the warmth of the wine now creeping up her spine. “This is Miguel, the ambassador of Serkonos,” she shook his hand and dimly smiled.

“Welcome to Dunwall, I duly thank you for the opportunity,” Jessamine replied, and her father turned the attention on to the other man beside Miguel. He stood with a fixed posture; he was sturdy, but not nearly as burly as Galen was. With his sword strapped to his hip, his arms rested casually folded over his front. It was impossible to mistake him for anything other than Serkonian, since he surely wasn’t a native of Dunwall, or Gristol. His skin was the colour of dark sand, and his hair as dark as burnt chestnut. It fell in thick layers just below his jaw line accented by a thin layer of whiskers. He was overall a fairly dusky man, and presently also quite reserved and difficult to study.

“Corvo Attano, your future Lord Protector,” her father announced as if unveiling a great secret. She extended her hand again, and Corvo reciprocated. Jessamine held herself in the most appropriately regal manner she could, but the wine was beginning to encroach on her Empress territory. If anything, it certainly wasn’t assisting the jumble of ‘proper’ responses that were currently melding together at the forefront of her thoughts. A short moment of sufficiently awkward silence crept over her, until her father interrupted, “I believe the Lady would like to make your acquaintance,” he said ushering the ambassador over for a separate conversation of seeming importance. Jessamine gave a polite nod and turned to the starkly quiet, mildly rain damp Serkonian in front of her.

“Jessamine Kaldwin,” she said immediately regretting the boring small talk initiative. She extended her hand to him, smiling. She already had one foot in the mud, there was no retreating now. Corvo reciprocated, although his facial expression hardly shifted.

“A pleasure,” he said, retracting. Silence once again encased them in an invisible bubble. She noted almost immediately that he was unfamiliar with trivial interactions when on duty. Not that she was surprised, any soldier selected for a responsibility as noble as Lord Protector would be expected to behave no differently. He was not unlike many of the high overseers that roamed the Tower. She had grown accustomed to the distance they maintained. She felt more laidback with Galen, although he had also watched Jessamine grow up. It’s hard to remain distant towards someone you’ve spent a large number of years sharing almost every intimate detail of your life with. But the thought of growing into womanhood with Corvo now watching over her was difficult to imagine.

“I hope your journey was pleasant,” she inquired, and what could have been mistaken as a sigh escaped from Corvo’s lips.

“It was fine, Your Majesty,” he said with a tone that told her otherwise. Years of careful training in the art of speech enabled Jessamine to pick up on subtle details to sway a conversation others would normally miss. Unfortunately she wasn’t the best at initiating the right conversations. Most of the time this was useful in arguments at The Hounds Pit, but she hoped it would prove its worth now by saving the dreadfully awkward encounter.

“You sound like you didn’t want to leave,” she said, folding her arms. “I don’t blame you, living in the Jewel of the South, with the finest beaches in all the Isles covered in sand like fine sugar.” He didn’t respond.

“I’ve never been,” she said, tearing her eyes away from her lovely handcrafted birthday cake at the far end of the room, “to Serkonos. I’ve studied much about it, though.”

“It’s lovely, not as much rain,” he said, his eyes shifting to the large windows sporting a mosaic of raindrops against a bleak sky.

“Which city are you from?” Jessamine pressed further.

“Karnaca.”

“Beautiful,” her genuine interest in the Isles she would one day inherit was the only thing that had seemed to grab Corvo’s attention. Her eyes wandered towards her father and the ambassador, she watched as her father tried to demonstrate his knowledge of Serkonian dancing and that was all it took for the bubble encasing them to suddenly burst. She couldn’t help but smother a snort with her palms. Corvo noticed the failed attempt at concealed giggling and tilted his head slightly to observe the source. Unbeknownst to him, he looked like a curious animal and this only caused Jessamine to burst out into laughter. He found that his lips had curled upwards uncontrollably. When Jessamine regained her composure she spoke again, “I apologize for my father’s... _different_ approach at welcoming guests.”

Corvo relaxed into a casual grin, “forgive me if I admit I enjoyed his more.”

“You are pardoned,” Jessamine giggled, “only if you pardon me for the awful introduction,” she said.

“The Grand Guard aren’t the easiest to interact with, Your Majesty, I don’t blame you.” Corvo replied.

On the other side of the ballroom, Galen couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t like to admit it, but Jessamine put a lot of faith in people. As he watched her giggling like a child, and the future Lord Protector unable to resist the lure of her infectious laughter, he found it hard to believe that she had become what she was so quickly. He felt a strange sense of pride in being here on her eighteenth birthday, almost like a parent watches a child. He was proud to be a part of her life, in some small way.

There was only one being who comprehended what was about to happen. Chaos pulled him in like a moth to a flame, the higher it burned the more he observed. He was done watching her move passively, she had potential for interest. Like fate, that predatory misery, he was over the young Empress’s shoulder, and he would not let this night pass unhindered.

As the sharp shattering of glass cut through the ballroom like the edge of a knife against a stone, The Outsider observed the first spark.


	3. Soldier Of Fortune

The ballroom was a chaotic symphony of piercing screams, the sharp metallic scraping of countless swords and rapiers, her heart giving an odd thump in her ears, and a breathless whisper. Then she saw him.

Standing in a pool of glittering glass debris was a man, a figure cloaked in black from head to toe. Even in the wake of her unfolding nightmare, she felt as if he was looking directly at her beyond the mask that shielded his face. As if she dreamt it in some strange cruel nightmare, he vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving nothing but a whisper behind. Then she felt him. He was beside her, impossibly, and he was speaking in words that sounded like distorted echoes, his voice like the shadows, a figment of a terror long passed. “What master do you serve?”

The moment her hands gripped the hilt of her rapier, the heartbreaking realization that he was gone caused her stomach to fill with lead. A bellowing noise filtered in through her dazed shell, and then two large arms were around her, dragging her away in what felt like slow motion. She heard someone yelling “get the Lady out!” and it sounded like Galen, but almost a million miles away.

She struggled desperately and in futility against Galen’s plated arms tearing her away from the horror unfolding in front of her gunmetal eyes, but the shackles of powerlessness were stronger than any prison in the Isles. She saw her father, Emperor Euhorn, and he was trying desperately to search for her in the panic. She then had the dark realization as a ghostly apparition materialized into a blur of black clothes and a mask that it was not her life in danger.

There were only two moments in Euhorn Kaldwin’s life that someone had dared to point a pistol at him. The first was in his youth, when he snuck into his father’s gun cabinet and he quickly learned from his own father that guns were a tool of fear and destruction, and had no place in the Dunwall he intended to rule. Now, he found the barrel of a pistol against his temple, and he instinctively knew that it would be the last. His heart reached to his daughter, who was under the protective wing of Lord Protector Galen. She was looking at him and there were tears rolling down her glazed face as if she had no idea she was even crying. She was begging him with her eyes to tell her he would be okay, and Euhorn felt as if his heart were tearing in two. “It’s going to be okay, love,” he told her, trying to stay as steady as possible but his voice broke anyways. “I love you,” but she couldn’t hear him.

Emperor Euhorn gripped the arm attached to the pistol and twisted it backwards. He wasn’t trying to cheat his way out of death, but he wouldn’t let it take him in front of his daughter. The masked assassin groaned painfully and cursed, but he didn’t seem truly phased. His arms exchanged the weapon, and he snapped back quickly, to reaffirm the presence of the gun pointed at the Emperor, and then in the blink of an eye he kicked behind the nook of Euhorn’s knees, knocking him to the ground. Euhorn lunged at the assassin’s legs, he drew his sword with a deafening yell, “this is my city, and will be for as long as I am still breathing, and as your Emperor, I command you to do only one thing.”

“I don’t care.”

“Spare her.”

“What?”

“The Outsider as my witness,” the taboo name struck like a hammer in his assassin’s ears, his voice was commanding and powerful, that of a man who had ruled for many years. For the first time, the assassin did not stir from his position, “if you ever harm Jessamine Kaldwin I will find you from beyond the void and in some form I will punish you for betraying your Emperor.”  He looked directly at the assassin, his eyes burning into the mask as if it didn’t exist.

The assassin would find that he had nothing else to say to the Emperor.

Corvo watched as the shell shocked body of Jessamine was dragged away to safety. He found that despite his experience as a member of the Grand Guard, he could hardly breathe. The distorted voices of Miguel and Dunwall’s Lord Protector, Galen all merged together until there was only one single unique voice that seemed to stand out. It whispered in his ear like static against the echoing boom of his pulsating heartbeat. “ _Do it,_ ” it demanded, “ _or don’t, but that shot could be your only chance._ ”

He pulled his pistol up towards himself, the figures of Euhorn and the assailant weaving in and out of a deadly dance. It was inhuman how the assassin would appear, and then simultaneously collapse into a plume of darkness only vaguely in his likeness. One minute the blurry man was in clear view and the next his body was overlapping with a struggling Euhorn, fighting the knife pointed towards him. The sweat on Corvo’s palms caused the firearm to slip down slightly. Euhorn evaded a deadly headlock by swiping the arm that held him in place, only to have it knocked down with a cut from the blade. There was no sense in the matter, purely instinct. Corvo cursed under his breath, he wasn’t a killer, he was a guard, and right now he was just a man burdened with the responsibility of making the right decisions at the wrong time.  “ _The choice is yours, Corvo, but whatever it is, I expect it will be quite... interesting._ ”

Galen could only watch in horror as Jessamine cried and lashed out against him like a tormented animal. He shielded her with his arms and scanned through the chaos of the ballroom with eyes that were desperately fighting back emotion. The overseers were occupied with evacuation of the guests, there wasn’t anyone left to defend the Emperor. He cursed; he was bound to the young Empress and refused to leave her side, which meant he couldn’t eliminate the threat. Then he saw it – the glint of a pistol at the far end of the room, in the hands of the Serkonian Lord Protector. In one swift motion he lifted Jessamine up curling his body around her like a shield and barreled through the confusion, the glass crunching beneath his boots. Galen might not have been able to protect the Emperor, but _he_ could.

Corvo felt his teeth clenched together, he heard no more from the mysterious benefactor, and every second of silence felt like hours. All he needed was a single clean shot that wouldn’t fatally wound the Emperor. Tiny beads of sweat began to surface on his brow, as the seconds ticked past him and he was forced to choose the fate of the most powerful figure in the Isles. For Corvo, there was no middle ground, he had to make a decision that could change everything, or do nothing and let the Emperor die. Corvo’s fingertips dug into the handle of the pistol, he felt as if he were suddenly falling when he heard the voice of Galen commanding him through the barrage of screams, and he yelled only a single word.

“Shoot!”

There were only a few sensations Euhorn would remember feeling in the ensuing moments. The first was terror that came in a very sudden tidal wave and flooded his body like an ocean. It caused his heart to give an appropriately loud thump, and the second was something similar to a drop in a fast elevator. Because he had only staggered a few footsteps backwards against the white marble floors before the weight of his body shattered through the glass windows, and was plummeting towards the open mouth of the ocean. He would remember the violent sting of the frigid waters burying him in an icy cocoon that seemed to crawl into his veins, leaving everything a haze of murky blue and waterlogged noises. A plume of scarlet trailed behind him, staining the waters like a thick ink. His vision was blurred and dimming, converging with black, and his lids closed as he desperately failed to cling to consciousness. This was quiet whisper of the void, and he would not escape its call.

In the ballroom, Jessamine screamed.


	4. Loss

Jessamine emerged from her chambers for the first time in over two weeks, on the day of her father, Emperor Euhorn’s funeral. She surfaced with a pistol in hand and only one place on her mind – the shooting range. It had taken four men to subdue her after the gunshot in the ballroom, and the very sight of the de facto Serkonian Lord Protector evoked a response that made words run dry and her bones rattle with anger. Subsequently, he was not to go near her indefinitely, not that it mattered since no one else was either. Galen postponed his retirement out of pity to fulfil the Lord Protector requirements from as far away as he could, and for as long as it was needed. He could retire again if at some point, Jessamine allowed the Serkonian to take over the role, or she and the Lord Regent found a suitable replacement.

He wasn’t guilty of anything, is what they had said, which enraged Jessamine. She wanted something or someone to make things... tangible, as if everything she was feeling was justifiable in some concrete way.

Many of the watch, but mostly the maids found it difficult to conceal their shocked expressions, but she had expected them to talk as soon as she set foot outside of her room. Galen, of all people, was also taken aback, and it took until she was half way down the hall to the stairs for the sight to fully register. “Milady,” he exclaimed once caught up, but Jessamine had already begun to cut him off.

“Leave me.” She snapped, her words meant well, but for a woman who felt as if her heart were splitting in two, they stung like poison. He cleared his throat nervously, the request would have been denied under any other circumstance. But Galen knew Jessamine, and he knew that she wasn’t asking him for a favour, she was telling him what she needed. So without an audible word, he stopped following her and watched as Jessamine took the first few steps towards braving a new path.

He knew that before she could move on, Jessamine would need to make amends. His eyes wandered over to the Lord Regents office, where the Serkonian would likely be, at this time.

When she reached the grounds, soldiers and keepers all feared of interrupting her step. The range stood on the edge between the cliff face overlooking the ocean, tucked away towards the back of Dunwall Tower. Each gunshot from the range felt as if they were piercing her heart, and when she arrived at the range, the first thing she did was order the stunned men present to leave. They hurriedly bid her farewell, and hustled out of the area in obedience, talking amongst each other.

She found it hard to comprehend how the feeling of abandonment caused her to push people away in a desperate cry for help. She had never realized until lately how much grief felt so much like fear.

She grabbed the pistol from her holster and took aim. It was a tight, wavering grasp, and when she pulled the trigger, the bullet ricocheted violently off of the metal guard rails behind the targets. Feeling her anger reach a breaking point, she jammed another bullet inside the chamber and locked the bolt. She strode aggressively towards the target, firing again.  It pierced the furthest ring just barely, but before she had time to react or to load another round, she heard the click of a gun hammer behind her. It fired directly past her, and almost through the centre of the target. When she whirled around in shock, the face that awaited her was one that caused her words to catch in her throat and die on her lips.

“It isn’t safe to be alone, you know.” Corvo said with his eyes transfixed on the target, hardened and almost visceral. There was an undercurrent of a Serkonian accent in his overall tone. One would have to be absolutely daft to miss the palpable tension present in the room, which was thick enough to cut with a knife. Jessamine wasn’t sure if it were possible to feel any more abashed, but she did and right then, she felt as fragile as a house of cards. The only way she knew to protect herself was with unnatural harshness and brevity.

“I see, I’ll have the Captain put you on the next ship to Serkonos,” said Jessamine, her shoulder firmly colliding with Corvo as she brushed past him. Her eyes did not so much as offer a careless glance, “leave me now.” Jessamine finished, and then she busied herself with picking out bullets from the several open containers beside her.

Corvo took a moment to brave her venom, and then spoke again, “Your Majesty –”

“You _killed_ him!” She screamed, hastily and sloppily pointing the unloaded pistol directly at Corvo’s chest, her words struck him like lightning. He was visibly taken aback, but his eyes practically wept of empathy even though she didn’t see it, she couldn’t see much at that moment. They both knew it was an empty threat, but Jessamine found it hard to rationalize her fear at that moment.

“I’m a soldier and I made a judgement call to try and protect the Emperor!” Corvo retaliated quickly, furiously, and for the first time, Jessamine remained quiet. Very few individuals questioned her authority, no matter how brash. “I had every opportunity to board the ship back to Serkonos, but I didn’t, because I decided not to abandon my duty.” He stepped closer, the selfish child of Jessamine wept and howled, and no-one could hear it but her. Echoing through her own mind like the haunting of a ghost that hasn’t quite died and was fighting for its return to the substance. “Protecting the Emperor, and you, was my _job_ , have you considered doing yours?”

“How... How dare you!” She shouted, but even as the words left her mouth, Jessamine, inside and out, sensed it was no use.

Sure enough, Corvo’s voice cut through her mind like a knife, “being afraid, sacrifice,” he said somberly, “that is what it means to be Empress, to be human.” She found that her grip on the pistol was shaking.

Jessamine desperately clung to her anger like a shield that was quickly crumbling. How dare he lecture her about sacrifice, especially since this was the furthest thing from it? Her fingers were as stiff as metal against the handle of the gun, shaking violently in her grasp. Her face was resolute, but Jessamine felt she would shatter like glass at any minute. “You don’t know the first thing about sacrifice,” she practically demanded, the words stinging her throat as she spoke. She closed the space between them so that the only distance between their figures was the cold barrel of the pistol now pressed into Corvo’s chest. “Sacrifice is a conscious decision to give up, surrender, a _choice_ , damn it!” She shoved the pistol into him, causing him to inch backwards only slightly, but his body reaffirmed that he refused to move. “And you took it from me.” Corvo searched her face; it was almost painful looking at her struggling gunmetal eyes, glassed over. “Do you know what that really is?” she demanded.

Corvo remained mute. Jessamine was angry, but slowly as she unraveled before his eyes he saw that she was _afraid._ Her chin was now relentlessly quivering, and a small wet trail stained her cheek. Jessamine managed to say only a single word before she felt as if her throat was closing, “ _loss.”_

The lonely child was a blubbering wreck as she held on to her last line of defence with all of her life force. But there was another hand on hers, a hand that threatened to break open her quiet sorrow as it removed the pistol from her grasp. Then Jessamine’s vision failed her, the blinding white of the ocean, the glare of the impossibly huge sun, the bowl of the sky, it all melted together into one endless haze of light. The silence had shattered in the wake of her defeated childhood until her world became nothing but fright and submission.

Then, she bowed her head over the hands that held her pistol and began to cry. She gripped Corvo’s fingers painfully hard, her body shuddering and heaving, wracked with sobs until she thought that hearts really did break, and that hers was breaking now.

When Jessamine had regained herself slightly, she looked up in an embarrassed, bleary haze to see Corvo trying to dry his hands. “I-I’m s-so sorry...” she sputtered, wiping her cheeks on her sleeves, disgusted with her actions and the childish wreck of herself she had presented. He didn’t have to tell her that he understood, because they saw the same thought in each other’s eyes.

“Are you implying that I don’t understand loss, your majesty?” he said, suddenly, gently, as if rearranging his words. She could see the care in his face, hardened lines underneath the faintest hint of whiskers softened tenderly.

“N – No I’m not!” she said in a plea of submission for her selfishness. In her moments of newfound clarity, Jessamine wondered how she could have been so ignorant. She judged Corvo on the sum of his actions, not his person. What kind of leader should ever hope to be fair or just if they spend all their time falsely judging their people? She wasn’t the only person in Gristol grieving, or angry, and Corvo had himself, imperceptibly reminded her of that fact.

“There is loss among the people of these isles that you will never know,” he said, suddenly unable to look at the young Empress. “The most frightening loss I should hope you never experience is yourself.” His words, although distant, somehow didn’t feel impersonal, and settled into her broken demeanour like a balm. “Your attitude is infectious to the people of these isles; it’s a symbol for them. Do you want to be a bitter Empress, filled with regret?” Jessamine shook her head and cast her eyes away. “Being strong is no more my job than it is yours, Your Majesty.” He said.

They stood there silently, as if that were the only thing that ever needed to be said. There was no need for Jessamine to thank him, and after they finished embracing the quietness that stretched between them for what seemed like miles, Jessamine spoke: “How did you know –”

“The Lord Protector, Galen,” Corvo quickly responded. “I was in the Lord Regents office, requesting for a return to Serkonos.” Jessamine swallowed hard, and Corvo continued, “But Galen came and he convinced me to stay. He said he had never seen you like that before. When you left your chambers, you weren’t Jessamine anymore.” Jessamine felt her heart well up in her throat, “He begged me to stay; he said you were at the range, and –”

“Thank you,” the young Empress silenced him. There was no need for a further explanation past reaffirming that there were people that cared about her, and it was as if nothing else mattered in the world. Corvo, Galen, her father and maybe even the citizens of Dunwall – they cared.

“Does he really want to retire that badly?” Jessamine remarked with fondness.

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to give him a break, Your Majesty.”

* * *

The sun beat down against Euhorn’s small white gazebo with a blaring intensity, and all of those in attendance for the funeral were haphazardly wiping beads of sweat from their foreheads and necks. The light danced carelessly against the pristine plaque in the western corner. It was nearing sunset now, the sky was mauve with dusty peach cotton wool clouds and the whole sky hung like an inverted bubble. The Lord Regent, the Captain and Galen all stood, tight lipped, waiting for Jessamine to speak. Behind her, Corvo watched intently.

Jessamine shifted her weight nervously, gazing towards the mouth of the ocean behind them. She knew this was it, this was where it ends, or begins, nobody could say. Stray ashen locks of her hair swayed in the unsteady, easy winds.

“In truth, I had not prepared anything for today,” she spoke honestly and truly for the first time. “But I believe my father, and your beloved Emperor Euhorn Kaldwin prepared me for this for a long time.” She trailed off, before regaining her clarity. She looked down briefly, expecting a paper full of important notes she should have been addressing, and almost smiled to herself. When she raised her head, she took several moments to silently, and placidly look at the faces of all those in attendance until one by one they all focused on her inquisitively. Galen was the first, matching her eyes, and then the Lord Regent, and finally the Captain, who instantly softened his expression.

“To me, Euhorn Kaldwin, was the finest Emperor Gristol could have asked for.” Jessamine felt her heart catch in her throat; the palpable, brassy sunlight felt as if it would make her skin hot to the touch.

“I want Gristol to remember the Kaldwin’s not as a line of tragedy, but as the line that unified the Isles, a line to be proud of.” Said Jessamine, observing as a white capped wave crashed against a large rock in the distance, before quietly receding again. There was much to learn from the patterns of the ocean, the constant pull outwards and inwards, the perpetuating tides of balance which could both steal and give her joy. “In time, I only hope to be at least half the leader my father was,” Jessamine retrieved from her pocket, the small box from her father, and removed the paper. She truly didn’t know what it was she would find inside, but when she slid the lid off, those thoughts became instantly irrelevant.

She lifted the handwritten piece of paper off the top, revealing her father’s golden pocket watch. Carefully inscribed with swirling dual swan detailing worn off by many years of handling, it ticked heartily as she clutched it in her hands and suddenly her face began to feel hot. Jessamine tried hard to focus on the written words; it was an excerpt from his favourite Tennyson poem – Ulysses.

“We are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven.” Jessamine addressed, her voice was oddly confident, but simultaneously humbling. “That which we are, we are.” She glanced back at Corvo, her eyes practically begging that he agree – and he did. “One equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will.” No one could tell but him the smile that touched his lips, faint, and almost garish against his docile expression.

“To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”


End file.
